Finding the Words
by RogueSnitch
Summary: Shelagh finds herself at a loss for words when her daughter asks her an important question. Can the Turners pull together and provide Angela with the answers that she is seeking?
1. Chapter 1

Finding the Words

Shelagh Turner had experienced precious few moments throughout her life where she found herself completely at a loss for words. Not that she was a woman of many words, but she held a certain pride (for which she would repent on occasion during her years in the Habit) in her ability to surmise a situation and offer a considered, succinct and timely response. There were certainly times where Shelagh felt that actions spoke louder than words, a phrase which she would forever associate with replacing lost coat buttons and times when she believed that thoughts were better left abstract rather than shaped into words. Sister Bernadette's period of questioning, illness and the subsequent elevation of 'Ms' to 'Mrs', and 'Sister' to 'Mother' may have left those around Shelagh to believe that she didn't have the words appropriate to the gravitas of the changes rapidly befalling her. People would be wrong to assume and only Shelagh would ever know the extent of those conversations that were sent up in prayer. Yes, Shelagh Turner considered herself a woman that could listen, weigh up a situation and respond with words, not always the right words – she was human after all – but words non-the-less.

So, when her twelve-year-old daughter burst in to the kitchen, face as pale as the frost adorning the boroughs of London and whimpered, "Am I adopted?" as Shelagh was mid-way through slicing a carrot and half singing a Christmas carol that she couldn't recall all of the words to; you would expect a perfectly heartfelt and truthful response would fall from her lips.

Except that it didn't, Shelagh couldn't grasp a single word. She looked upon the face of her darling girl, noticing the tears that were threatening to fall and the redness of her bottom lip – a stark contrast to the grey pallor of her skin – that was being worried by her teeth and froze. Looking back, Shelagh would recall a ringing in her ears and a numbness that wasn't shattered until the front door slammed and Angela was noticeably absent. The noise shocked Shelagh into action and she ran to the door.

They had planned for this, when her girl was a small baby swaddled in yellow blankets, Shelagh had turned to her husband and asked, "When do we tell her?" It was always a question of _when_ , not _if_ , and they had agreed that it would only be fair to tell her when she was old enough to fully understand. Back then, imaging her new baby as an emotionally mature young woman was almost an abstract concept and in recent years as Angela approached the teenage milestone, Shelagh had, on occasion contemplated how difficult the reality of it was going to be. Despite this, Shelagh had remained resolved.

"Angela!" was the first word to leave Shelagh's mouth since the jumbled carol she had been attempting to sing. She called out again, frantically looking up and down the street, but her daughter was nowhere in sight. Thin tire tracks marred the crisp frost under her slipper covered foot and snaked down the road indicating that her daughter was not traveling on foot and would have likely made up some distance. Shelagh turned back to the house to shout for her husband, but the absence of his car on the drive reminded her that Patrick and their youngest son, Teddy, had left earlier in the afternoon to do a bit of last minute shopping.

Re-entering the house, Shelagh sat down on the bottom step of the stairs and closed her eyes, breathing in and out slowly. Part of her wanted to burst into tears and another part wanted to run down the street after her daughter but she knew she needed to be calm and think rationally. Her priority was making sure Angela was safe, which meant figuring out where she was. She hurried to the phone and called Nonnatus House, almost a second home to her family.

"Nonnatus House, midwife speaking?" a familiar voice chimed in a soft yet professional tone.

"Barbara, it's Shelagh." She paused for a second, willing her voice not to crack, "Angela set out on her bike a short while ago," she took another pause to collect herself, "Oh Barbara, she was so upset, and I don't know where she will go but if she should turn up, could you please ring me?"

The voice at the other end of the phone was compassionate and supportive, not asking for explanation yet giving assurances willingly. As Shelagh hung up the phone, she wondered if she should have elaborated a little but deep down knew that she wouldn't be able to put voice to the situation. Picking up the receiver, she flicked through an address book that was by the phone, mentally calculating which of Angela's friends lived in the direction she had set off in, when a knock at the door interrupted her.

She crossed the hallway in two strides and flung the door open, "Angela?"

A tall young man, with unruly brown hair trapped under a Father Christmas hat, wearing a novelty white beard filled the doorway with two suitcases, settled by his feet. He laughed and his smile, partially hidden by the white curls, was so like his fathers. "Oh, has Ange grown four feet, not to mention a beard since I was last here then? Or are you starting to go the way of old Sister Monica Joan?"

When she didn't immediately chastise him for his cheek, he knew something was wrong, "Mum?"

"Oh Timothy!" She flung herself into his arms, and could no longer hold back the tears.

He held her tight, "Hey, it can't be that bad. You haven't let Dad help with the cooking, again, have you? I'm all for fish and chips any day of the week, but Christmas dinner is sacred!" His attempt at levity didn't evoke a reaction leading Timothy to gently prise his mother away and hold her at arm's length. Removing the beard and hat, he solemnly asked, "Mum, what's happened?"

Shelagh sniffled and attempted to wipe the tears from her cheeks, "It's Angela, she must have found out about the adoption from somewhere and I couldn't… didn't…"

"Where is she?" Timothy cut in, stretching to peer into the house, "Mum?"

"I don't know," Shelagh whimpered. "Oh Tim, she rode off on her bike and I don't know where and it's going to be dark soon and I don't know when your father will be back and and…" The words were tumbling from her lips, the frantic pace sharpening her accent to the point that her own son had to concentrate to follow.

Timothy chose this moment to cut in, wanting to end the downward spiral of worry that was plaguing his mother. "Mum, it's going to be alright. _I_ will go out and look and you stay here in case she comes back or somebody rings." He gave her a moment to digest his words. "Mum?"

"Yes, yes, thank you Timothy." Far from relieved, she felt slightly less anxious knowing that a plan was coming together. They just needed to be organised and in this, Shelagh excelled. "You go out looking and I will start ringing around her friends, I might strike lucky." She bent to pick his suitcases, leaving them just inside the hall, "Take my bike, it will be quicker."

Timothy winced. Her bike was reminiscent of the model she had rode endless miles during her years in the Habit, only it was a powder blue colour with a woven basket on the front, a present from Patrick two Christmases past. "It's a bit girly, mum."

Shelagh was skilled in turning a phrase, but her expressions could be just as eloquent. Timothy held up his hands in defeat. "Fine, fine, I'm going" he mumbled as he made his way around the side of their detached house to where he knew his mother's bike would be propped up against the wall.

Shelagh, still feeling like her heart was stuck in her throat made to close the front door when she heard Timothy's exclamation; a few choice words that she would have, under normal circumstances gently chastised him for. Peering back outside she watched in astonishment as her now adult son rode across the garden path on a pink bike, adorned with flower stencils, doing a fair impression of a circus clown. It had slipped her mind that Angela had taken to using the blue bike after a sudden growth spurt. Levity wasn't on the cards, given the circumstances, yet Shelagh smiled softly as she watched Timothy struggle down the street on his sister's old bike. Her family had weathered all manner of storms to get where they were today, she just had to hold on to hope that they could calm the waters again and help Angela through this in any way that they could.

* * *

Hello, if you have made it this far, thank you for reading! I'm attempting to get back into writing after many years and would love any feedback that you could give. Love it or hate it? Got tips for grammar and punc? Any thoughts on interpretation of characters and plot? Throw it my way!

I have planned around 4-5 chapters for this story and will include all the lovely Turners.

**Edited because I spelt Shelagh's name wrong - such a rookie mistake!**


	2. Chapter 2

Timothy always enjoyed returning to the family home, even in his mid-twenties he found that as soon as he crossed the threshold and inhaled the familiar sent that seemed to permeate the walls, he felt safe and content. He would find himself anticipating the muted sound of his mother singing from the kitchen as she busied herself with making a pot of tea and the way his father would rush to avail himself of every anecdote he had collected since last they spoke, while simultaneously bombarding Timothy with questions regarding his own exploits. Where Angela and Teddy were concerned, the anticipation lay in the unknown. Always familiar yet growing and changing so rapidly, his brother and sister were continually full of surprises and intrigue and he adored soaking it all in on every visit. His family was certainly special, and he would be inclined to argue that it wasn't just because he was slightly biased.

Peddling as quickly as he could manage on the awkwardly sized bicycle, he followed the track on the floor that he was hoping was left by Angela. Rounding a corner, he passed a warehouse with men at work, transferring sacks of goodness-knows-what back and forth. He endured the laughter and lewd comments about his mode of transportation and lamented that the tire tracks had petered out in the busy area. Sighing to himself he slowed the bike to a stop and walked over to a group of men who looked to be part way through a scheduled break if their half-smoked cigarettes were any indication.

He steeled himself for the further onslaught of mockery he was sure would come, "Excuse me, I'm looking for a girl-" Timothy was cut off with jeers of " _Aren't we all, lad_ " and " _You'll be lucky on that bike!_ " He jumped back in quickly, grimacing at the misunderstanding. "No, no. I'm looking for my sister, I think she might have passed by here on a blue bike."

The men looked around at each other and shoulders were shrugged; Timothy was ready to thank them and move on when an older gentleman sidled over. "Ah, you'll be Turner's eldest lad?"

He nodded and shook the man's proffered hand politely. "Hello."

"Good man that Turner, looked after my Vera right to the end he did. God rest her soul. Not a better Doc' to be found in these parts I reckon."

Timothy nodded solemnly, all the while working on how to leave the conversation quickly, so he could continue looking for Angela, it really would be dark soon. His patience was rewarded however when the older man exclaimed, "Anyway, saw ya' youngen' head by, going like the clappers in that direction."

Mounting the bike while running, Timothy called his thanks over his shoulder. He knew where she was going, and he felt foolish for not immediately thinking of it. Really it had started when Teddy was born, he would take Angela out exploring when his mother needed a bit of peace and quiet. They would wander anywhere and everywhere. One day the rain had started to come down while they were playing a rather one-sided game of 'cat and mouse' at the park and they had sought shelter under a big oak tree. It was a fantastic, aged tree with a huge trunk and large roots that protruded up from the ground in places. The lower branches sloped towards the grass as though the leaves were weighing it down. Those branches had the honour of providing Angela with her first foray into tree climbing when she was six years old. A nasty tumble had stalled her career in climbing until she felt brave enough again around the age of eight. Over the years, they had found themselves under those branches – and later balanced upon them – numerous times. A safe little haven that was just theirs. Timothy felt a wave of sadness that he couldn't recall the last time they had been here together.

Entering the park, he easily sought out the old familiar oak and released the breath he hadn't realised he had been holding when he saw the blue bike propped up against the trunk. Making a snap decision, he turned around and left the park through the entrance he had just used, remembering a phone box was situated just across the road.

Digging for change in his pockets, he dialed the number for their house. His mother picked up immediately, her voice anxious "Yes? Hello?"

"Mum, it's me. I've found Ange."

"Oh, thank heavens." Shelagh took a deep breath and continued, "Please make sure she knows how loved she is and bring her home safe."

Making his way back over, he realised he had no idea what to say to her. She was so intrinsically part of their family, it had been years since he had even thought about her birth mother or what finding out that she had a different birth mother would mean to her. It had certainly never occurred to him that it would fall on his shoulders to broach the subject. Resting the small pink bike next to the larger blue one, he looked up into the tree to see his sister watching him from a higher branch.

"Hey, Sprout." A childhood nickname that he had bestowed on her.

She didn't smile but replied, "Hey, Pickle-head."

He grinned up at her. "I don't have a head shaped like a pickle and you know it."

"Well I don't smell like sprouts." Her voice was flat, lacking the bounce that he was accustomed to.

"You do when you've eaten too many of them."

A choked sob and his name falling from her lips spurred him into action and he was climbing his way up next to her within seconds. Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, he gently rocked her back and forth as she cried.

"It's not true is it Tim? Jennifer's grandmother got it wrong, didn't she?" She spoke softly as if saying the words aloud, asking the question was taking great effort.

Instead of answering, he asked her, "Tell me what happened?"

"I was getting ready to leave Jennifer's house and she wanted me to stay later but I said I had to get home before it got dark. Her grandmother is living with them now because she gets confused a lot and she told me that it was a sensible idea and that I was lucky to have been taken in by the Turners as I could have been adopted by anyone." She paused and looked up into her brother's eyes, "Why would she say that Tim?"

For a brief moment, he contemplated telling her that it wasn't true, and that Jennifer's grandmother had been mistaken… but he couldn't. As much as he wanted to spare her the pain, he couldn't lie to her. Besides, she would never forgive him for lying when she was eventually told the truth. An idea struck him, and he decided to gamble, "Right Ange, put on this scarf." He pulled his own scarf from around his neck, feeling the loss of warmth immediately, and thrust it towards her.

She looked confused but followed his instruction, "Why do I need to wear this? I just want to know-"

Timothy cut her off mid-sentence, "Patience Sprout, this is a long story and I don't want you catching a cold. Sitting comfortably?" When she tentatively nodded he took a deep breath and began, "You are right Ange, it is time that you knew the whole story of our tangled family tree." He paused for dramatic effect. "It starts with a very sad, yet very handsome, little boy and an even more sad and not so handsome doctor."

Angela rolled her eyes at him, but Timothy continued. "You see, they started out in a different family too. One day, their family was fractured when the little boy lost his mother and the doctor lost his wife. They were still a family, but now they were only a family of two." He frowned thinking back to that period of his childhood, so long ago now.

"You were the little boy, weren't you?" Angela asked, snuggling into his side more closely.

Timothy smiled wistfully, "Yes, the _handsome_ little boy, I'd thank you to remember." His sister giggled despite herself and he continued, "They made the best of things, but they were sad. The doctor tried very hard to provide a happy home for the little boy, nevertheless something was missing."

Angela looked up at her brother, "What was missing? A mummy?"

He smiled down at her, noticing that her eyes no longer shined with tears, only curiosity. "It was more than that, it was light and laughter that was missing." _And a decent cooked meal,_ he added to himself. "It just so happens that the person that brought light and laughter back was a Nun called Sister Bernadette."

"So, I was right? It was a mummy." Angela's tone was self-satisfied and to Timothy it sounded exactly like their mother when she had outsmarted their father.

"Hey stop interrupting!" He jovially admonished. "Well you already know the story of the 'Nun becoming Mum' so we don't need to cover that, but do you see, the family tree changed, and the little boy now had a mother and the doctor had a wife."

Angela scrunched up her face in concentration. "Didn't you want your real mummy back?"

Timothy paused, not having anticipated such a question. Forgetting his narrative style, he answered, "I did. When she first died I would have given anything to get her back." He swallowed a lump in his throat. "It was strange at first, having a new mum but I couldn't help but love her and she made me feel safe and loved and she brought the light back into our family." He smiled suddenly, "Mum once told me that she thought of me and Dad as gifts sent from God, but I remember thinking that it was the other way around. She was a gift to us at a time when we really needed her."

"Maybe your mum in heaven saw you were sad and asked God to send her to you?" Angela spoke solemnly having no understanding of the affects her words had on her older brother.

He blinked back a tear and cleared his throat. "I hope so, Sprout." Noticing that darkness was starting to creep across the sky, he decided he really needed to get back on track. "Anyway, back to the story. Now we have a happy, _handsome,_ little boy, a happy doctor and a happy nun turned mum. But it wasn't to last, I'm afraid."

Angela, being completely sucked into the story, gasped. "Why?"

"Well, the new family of three were so happy together, they wanted to spread the happiness even farther. The little boy really wanted a brother or sister and the mum wanted a baby to share even more of her love with. Sadly, it wasn't to be, no baby came." Timothy was rapidly trying to figure out how to move on the story with out having to touch upon any 'mushy stuff', as that really wasn't his responsibility. "This made everyone really sad because they wanted it more than anything."

"That is sad." Angela frowned.

Suddenly Timothy was struck again with inspiration. "It was sad, but I think that my first mum was still keeping watch over us and she asked God to send us another very special gift. And that gift was you, Angela. Our family changed again and we were so happy."

"I was a gift from God?" She asked in awe.

"Why do you think Dad always calls you Angel Girl?" Said Timothy as though he was imparting great wisdom upon an apprentice. He was hoping that would be enough to tide her over until she got home and undoubtedly would get a more informative explanation from their parents, but he just wasn't that lucky.

"But where did I come from? Did my real mummy die too?"

"Actually, I don't know. I think for that part of the story we need to go home and ask Mum and Dad." He watched the concern on her face and his heart broke a little bit for her, "We can do it together, I will be with you every step of the way."

Before she could answer, Timothy jumped down from the branch and held his arms up to her, "Jump?"

She huffed, "I'm too old for that Timmy!"

"Suit yourself, but I'm riding the blue bike back!"

She screeched and jumped into his arms, overbalancing him for a second. He hadn't accounted for the extra centimetres she had grown since he had last been home. Nobly allowing her to ride their mother's bike home, he suffered on the pink monstrosity, all the while congratulating himself. _It could have been worse_ he thought to himself seconds before Angela chimed in with,

"How did Teddy get in Mummy's tummy then?"


	3. Chapter 3

Standing at the front door, Angela raised her hand to the handle before letting it fall back to her side, she would rather go back to her tree. It was safe at her tree and it could become whatever she wanted it to be; a pirate ship or a towering castle were her favourite options. She knew that she couldn't stay at the tree forever though, it would be very cold at night and foxes might come out of the shadows and circle her beloved tree, leaving her trapped. No, she had to go inside but what if everything was different. What if it didn't feel like home anymore? Timothy would always be on her side, she was sure of that, but what if Teddy didn't want to play with her anymore because she wasn't his real sister? True, he annoyed her more often than not, but she liked being his big sister. It was her job to look after him like Timmy looked after her.

Back from putting the bikes away, Timothy rested his hand on her shoulder. "Ready?"

"No." She mumbled softly. She hadn't said anything to her older brother about being scared. Part of her wishes that she had now because then he would have told her it was going to be fine and she would always believe him. Looking down at the floor, she whispers, "Are they going to be mad at me?"

If Timothy heard her, he didn't have time to respond as the door was flung open and Angela found herself wrapped up in arms that were at once soft and gentle yet tight and secure. She was silly to want to go back to her tree; this was the place that she felt the safest. Inhaling the familiar sweet scent that was unique to the woman that held her, she whimpered, "Mummy!" And cried in earnest.

* * *

It all seemed fuzzy to her now. She wasn't completely sure how she got inside the house and she didn't know who had draped a blanket over her shoulders, but she did know that she hadn't let go of her mother once and wasn't planning to, ever. Angela was aware that her mother had been whispering words of comfort to her all the time and she just wanted to stay nestled in her arms for ever.

Just before he spoke, she heard a cracking sound and an exaggerated groan that meant her father was kneeling next to her. "Hey, Angel." He brushed her hair behind her ear and kissed the top of her head. "I've made you a hot cocoa," he leant forward conspiratorially, whispering, "and it's the special kind that Mum says is too unhealthy."

"Oh, for goodness sake, Patrick. Where have you been hiding that?" Her mother questioned softly, and Angela giggled at her father's attempt at feigning innocence.

After a small amount of shuffling, Angela found herself securely snuggled between her parents with her father stroking her hair and her mother holding the hand that was free from the mug of hot cocoa, Angela decided to be brave and ask her questions, starting with the one weighing most heavy on her heart, "Why wasn't I wanted?"

Shelagh physically recoiled, causing a bit of Angela's hot cocoa to slosh over the top of the cup and onto Patrick's leg. His wife ignored his sudden hiss of surprise and kissed Angela's hand that she was still holding, "Oh my darling, you were so wanted. You were the answer to our prayers." Shelagh smiled, eyes watery. "You were a gift from God."

"I was a gift from Timmy's first mum." Angela was matter of fact in her tone.

Patrick and Shelagh's eyes met, each brimming with confusion. Before either had chance to ask for clarification, Angela spoke again.

"So were you, Mum." Despite all the confusion and doubts running through her young mind, Angela was proud to impart her insider knowledge. "Timmy and Dad were very lonely and sad, so Timmy's first Mum asked God in Heaven to send you to them."

"Is that right?" Shelagh asked, smiling. "I will have to send a special 'thank you' prayer up to her tonight, I think."

Angela was pleased with this information and didn't turn to see her father rapidly blinking and trying to swallow the lump in his throat. Something that Shelagh had noticed and deliberately ignored to give him a moment to collect himself.

"Angela, this doesn't change anything, you are our daughter and you always will be. Just as Timothy and Edward are ours. Where we all started isn't as important as the fact that we all found each other and became a family." Shelagh squeezed the small hand that she was holding, hoping that her words were enough.

"Did she die like Tim's first Mum?" Angela asked, gravely.

Shelagh took several moments before she spoke, weighing up each word carefully. Such a sensitive topic demanded consideration. "I can only tell you as much as I know, sweetheart. We weren't given much information so as to respect the girl's privacy and she was only a wee girl, not much older than you are now. She didn't die, Angela, but she was too young to raise a baby and wanted you to be part of a family that could give you all the love and safety she wasn't able to."

Angela nodded and sipped her hot chocolate. She remembered how noisy and squirmy Teddy was as a baby and she tried to imagine herself being left alone with a baby. It would be very scary, she decided.

Shelagh continued, "We wrote a letter to her while you were still such a tiny baby and told her that you were part of a new family, with an older brother and that you were so loved and would always be."

"Did she write back?" Angela enquired timidly.

"No, she didn't. We didn't know where she lived so we asked the adoption agency to pass the letter along to her." Shelagh pushed thoughts of jealousy and possessiveness aside and continued, "That being said, if one day, you want to try and find the woman who brought you into this world…"

Angela's eyes widened, and she felt sudden, gripping panic. "No, no, I don't want to! I don't want to!"

Patrick took the cup from her and placed it on the side table. He pulled Angela into his arms and rocked her until she calmed down. As her head rested on his shoulder, she whispered, "What if she wants to take me away? I want to stay here, Daddy."

Patrick nuzzled the top of her head. "Miss Angela Julienne Turner, you are stuck with us until you are at least thirty at which time I might consider letting you marry someone… but I'm not making any promises." Softly placing his hand on her chin, he tilted her face until he was looking in to her frightened eyes, "Nobody can ever take you away from us, sweetheart. Being adopted just means that you were born in to this family a different way. We are still your Mummy and Daddy, even if you sometimes think you are too old to be calling us that." His last sentiment was accompanied by a wink.

Angela's face took on a mask of concentration and she nodded her head, silently reaching her own conclusion. In a rapid turnaround, she smiled, "Sister Winnie said that it's a good idea to call you Mummy and Daddy when I want something as you are more likely to say yes!"

"Did she now?" Asked Shelagh, full of relief that Patrick had managed to calm their daughter down after her ill-timed comment. Taking her daughter's giggles as confirmation, she locked eyes with her husband, "I suppose I can't really comment on behaviour befitting of a nun, can I?"

Patrick's smile was full of warmth and he looked as though a comment was on the tip of his tongue, but he held back, no doubt waiting for a more private moment with his wife. Instead he said to his daughter, "You can call us Mummy and Daddy for as long as you like, you will never be too old." He kissed her on the forehead. "Now, what do you suppose your brothers are up to because it is suspiciously quiet."

Angela glanced between her parents as though the answer was obvious, "Teddy will be making a lot of mess and Tim will be trying to keep on top of it so that Ted doesn't get told off."

Shelagh and Patrick both laughed, their youngest was certainly a handful at times. "Let's go find them, shall we?" Shelagh said, then added, "I think a trip to the fish and chip shop might be on the cards tonight."

Angela rushed out of the room, looking for her brothers. "Ted! Tim! We are having chippy!" She ran into the room that acted as an office for her parents and gasped. "Oh! You two are going to be in so much trouble!"

* * *

Thank you for reading. There will be one more chapter to come in this little story.


	4. Chapter 4

Upon Patrick's return with his bounty from their local fish and chip shop, they had all sat around the dining table and enjoyed a meal as a family of five. There was, of course, the customary arguments about the best accompaniments. Shelagh was a purist, salt and vinegar was the winning combination, but she didn't begrudge the rest of her family their choices. Although on occasion she did have to step in when Ted had more tomato ketchup on his plate than actual food. They had eaten, laughed and enjoyed the company of each other and if Timothy and Teddy were making an extra effort to make Angela laugh, she could only feel great pride.

Once they had finished, they returned to 'the office' – not technically an office but so named as it was the place that Patrick or Shelagh, and even Timothy on occasion, would retreat to work in peace – and to the explosion of photographs that covered every available surface. While Angela's parents had been attempting to console their little girl, her brothers had decided to make a visual statement in the form of a family timeline. Timothy's motivation was as much for Teddy as it was for Angela. The youngest Turner had been confused by all the commotion and upset that his sister was upset, the timeline had been a distraction as well as a way to help him understand.

The boys had made a start with the scarce photographs of, what Tim had now dubbed as 'The Early Edition of the Turners' that included pictures of Marianne and Timothy as a baby. There were a few from the years that Patrick and Timothy were the 'The Bachelors', which Patrick uncomfortably realised were probably all taken by other parents and passed on to him. There was one of Timothy with a Nun both smiling at the camera and holding up what looked to be nativity play props. Teddy had found that particular photo and spent a while looking at it before holding it up to everyone and declaring, "I've found an old one that looks like Tim with some Nun."

Shelagh had taken the photo from him, laughed, and kissed her youngest son on the forehead. "Some Nun? That's not a very nice way to speak about your mother, Edward Patrick Turner!"

Teddy had gasped and taken the photo back from her, studying it closely. "It _is_ you, mum! You look so young!"

"Yes, thank you for that, Teddy!" Shelagh had laughed as she spoke.

Next to be sorted were the wedding photographs which Angela had enthused over, Timothy had blushed over, and Teddy had no interest in whatsoever.

Shelagh had looked at one of her and Patrick dancing together, eyes only for each other and thought back to that day. So much love and hope for what was to come. The woman in the photograph had no idea what lay in store, the trials and tribulations that they would face over the years but also all the joys and celebrations. They had _so much_ ahead of them.

The pictures of Angela throughout her childhood were plentiful and they had spent hours recounting stories from her early years. Stories that made her laugh, blush and quite often cringe, but in each story, she was surrounded by the same people, her family. Shelagh kept a close eye on her, waiting to catch her if she faltered, but while they were recounting stories, Angela was alive, laughing and joking with her brothers. It was in the quiet lulls between anecdotes that Shelagh saw her little girl's eyes cloud over like she was remembering all over again. It broke her heart not to be able to soothe her pain, she longed for a balm or bandage to make everything better.

By the time, they reached the photographs detailing Shelagh's pregnancy, and Teddy's questions started straying a little too close to inciting a 'birds and the bees' talk, Timothy saved everyone by declaring it bedtime. Tomorrow would be Christmas Eve so they all had to get plenty of sleep. Talk of Christmas was the sure-fire way of ensuring cooperation from the youngest Turners.

* * *

Everyone had gone up to bed except for Patrick, who leant against the kitchen counter and sipped his tea, it was far too hot, but he savoured the heat on his throat. It was something tangible to ground him. Today had been difficult. From the moment he arrived home and his wife fell into his arms, he had put on a brave face and gone into ultra-cheerful mode. It was a coping mechanism that he'd first adopted when Marianne became unwell and he had defaulted to it on many occasions when loved ones were hurting or he, himself was scared.

Timothy had always been able to see right through it, of course. He was immensely proud of Timothy today and had told him so as soon as they'd found a moment alone. He'd grown into such a thoughtful young man, a testament to both Marianne and Shelagh, he decided.

He was proud of Angela today too. She had been understandably upset and confused but so brave. Only time would tell how she would deal with this knowledge. They just had to rally around her and support her.

Patrick had a sudden urge to check on her. He'd heard his wife and daughter talking softly in her bedroom when he'd tucked Teddy into bed and had decided not to interrupt but now he needed some reassurance that she was alright.

He drained his cup and made his way upstairs, passing first his and Shelagh's room before stopping at Angela's. He carefully opened the door and his heart ached to see his little girl bathed in moonlight, looking so fragile. He watched her for a while and her even breathing soothed him, despite everything she looked peaceful, he hoped she was dreaming of pleasant things. Carefully, so not to wake her, he kissed her on the forehead and took his leave.

Walking into his own room, he had expected Shelagh to be asleep and so was taken aback by the sight that greeted him. His wife lay curled up on the bed, sobbing into the pillow.

"Oh, sweetheart." He rushed over to their bed and pulled her small frame against him. He felt like crying himself at the way she clung to him. Knowing that it would be a while before she could speak, he rocked her gently, placing little kisses along her hairline.

As her sobs faded to sniffles, she asked, "Did we make a mistake?"

Patrick couldn't fathom what she meant but for a split-second thought that she was saying adopting Angela had been a mistake. The thought was quickly chased away as he knew with certainty that Shelagh could only ever think of Angela as a blessing.

"Should we have told her sooner, Patrick? Maybe we should have spoken about it from the start, so she grew up hearing the word."

Patrick sighed, "I don't know, Shelagh but I don't think there is ever a right answer."

Shelagh sighed heavily, "But to find out from someone else. We should have realised that was a possibility, we are too well known in this community."

He couldn't argue with that. "I think that she has always been so intrinsically _ours_ that rational thinking didn't play a part."

Shelagh nodded in agreement and then closed her eyes, head still nestled against Patrick's chest. Just as he was starting to wonder if she had fallen asleep she whispered,

"Angela asked me if it could have been a mistake." Shelagh sat up and looked at her husband, drawing strength from him as she always did in times of heartache. "She had kept hold of a picture of me on our wedding day. She said she didn't understand how she could have come from a different mother because we look so alike."

A tear slid down her cheek and Patrick kissed it away. "You do look alike, I think she has my eyes though. She gets that sparkle in her eye, just like Tim and I think to myself, 'she's got Shelagh's delicate features and fair hair, but she has my eyes.'" He swallowed a lump in his throat. "She seems to have inherited Tim's sarcastic streak too."

Shelagh smiled but only briefly, "But she _isn't_ ours, Patrick."

He didn't argue that she was, that she would always be their girl because he knew that Shelagh knew it. She was just hurting. Instead he carried on, "Timothy though, he definitely inherited his long limbs from me, and his hair unfortunately; his smile is all Marianne's, but he definitely inherited his heart from you and his determination, come to think of it."

"Patrick,"

" _And_ Teddy," he carried on, cutting Shelagh off, "well, I'm not sure how we created that monster!"

Shelagh gasped and playfully slapped his arm, "Don't talk about our wee boy like that."

"Honestly Shelagh, unless you are keeping back a few home truths about your childhood, I am not sure how we managed to create such a rambunctious little fiend."

They laughed together and when they sobered, Shelagh said, "Our family is perfect, Patrick and I couldn't love any of our children more. I just wish that we could make this easier for her."

Patrick took her hand in his and absentmindedly played with her wedding ring. "Me too." He raised her hand and kissed it gently. "Do you remember what you said to me, all those years ago?"

Shelagh rolled her eyes and Patrick decided that he wouldn't voice his suspicion that she had inherited that from Tim.

"I've said a great many things to you over the years darling, could you be a bit more specific?"

"Children are resilient. She may not be alright tomorrow, or the next day but she will get there, and we will be with her every step of the way."

Shelagh smiled, "When did you become so wise?"

"I think when I fell in love with you, wisest decision I've ever made." Patrick grinned, pleased with his answer and only a little put out by a second eye roll in as many minutes.

"Silly man."

* * *

Saint Valentine's day had come around and Angela was enthralled with the notion of love and the ever-elusive Prince Charming. Her mother had conceded to baking some heart shaped biscuits that they could decorate together and take around to Nonnatus for their lunch date with Sister Julienne.

"Mum?"

"Yes, Angela?"

"Who do you think I will marry?"

Shelagh paused in her task of wiping away the flour from the kitchen counter, "I don't know sweetheart. Do you have anyone in mind?"

"No." She answered, aloof, before continuing, "I would like it if he had a horse that I could ride though."

Shelagh smiled and couldn't resist teasing her daughter, "Well what about Michael from across the road? You used to like playing with him."

"Argh no! Of course not, he picks his nose," she paused for dramatic effect, "and _eats_ it!"

Shelagh left her task and sat with her daughter at the table, pulling a suitably horrified face, "Oh well then he is definitely not good enough for my little girl."

Angela nodded sagely. "Besides, he doesn't have a horse."

"So, your criteria are: must own a horse and must not pick nose?" Shelagh mused.

"Yes."

"Well, I'm sure your Prince Charming on his mighty steed is out there just waiting to meet you."

Angela looked perturbed. "That's what Daddy said."

Shelagh could only wish that she had been privy to that conversation which she was sure would have been hilarious, _poor Patrick_. "You spoke to your father about this?"

"I was looking at the photograph of you in the wedding dress and I said I wanted to get married so I could look like a princess too. Daddy said that when I get married I might be able to wear your wedding dress."

Shelagh beamed, "What a lovely idea!"

Angela started pulling at the thread on her sleeve. "What if I don't look like you when I'm older though? What if I grow too tall to wear your dress?"

Shelagh's heart went out to her girl, she was coping so well with the news that she was adopted but every so often she would come to one of them with a doubt or a question. "I have an idea, come with me."

Shelagh headed up to her bedroom with a curious Angela hot on her heels.

"What are we doing, Mum? Oh!"

From the back of their wardrobe, Shelagh dug out a large box and carefully removed the garment. Placing it lovingly on the bed.

Angela looked at it in awe.

"Take your dress off and stand on this stool." Shelagh instructed, and she procured another, smaller box and rested it next to the dress.

In seconds, Angela was balanced on the stool, dressed only in her underwear and biting her lip in anticipation. "It's too big for me!" She protested but her tone was full of excitement.

"Arms up," Shelagh had to reach as Angela was much taller than her while standing on the stool. "Yes, it's a little big for you now, but that's alright because you have a bit more growing to do before you can get married. However, we can have a look at how it might need altering for you."

Shelagh carefully gathered some of the excess material at the back and pulled it tight to Angela's fame, securing it with pins. "Stay right there, Angel. Don't move or the pins might prick you."

Pulling a floor length mirror from the other side of the bedroom, she placed it in front of Angela and her daughter gasped.

"I think the way you are growing you'll probably end up taller than me, so we might have to add some more lace and the bottom to make the skirt longer." Shelagh rolled up the delicate sleeves that were far too long for Angela, "Maybe you'll prefer it without sleeves, so we could always take them off."

"No mummy, you can't." Her voice was frantic. "If you make it longer or take off the sleeves it will ruin your dress and you won't be able to wear it again!"

Shelagh felt so much love for her daughter she thought her heart might burst. "Oh, you sweet girl, it won't ruin it at all. It will make it perfect for _you_." She took her daughter's hands in hers. "This is your dress now, for whenever you need it. I won't ever wear it again because I had my magical wedding day." Shelagh saw the realisation dawn on Angela's face.

"Don't tell your father though, I don't want him getting complacent."

"Don't tell me what?" Patrick's voice echoed from the hallway, making them both jump, so caught up as they were in their moment. As Patrick entered the room and his eyes fell on his daughter, he was struck speechless for a second. Finding his voice, he said, "Don't tell me you've found that Prince Charming already?!"

Angela burst into giggles. "No, Daddy, we are just seeing how it fits."

Shelagh retrieved the veil from the box and handed it to her husband, "Would you like to do the honours?"

Patrick took the veil from her and she could have sworn that his eyes looked rather watery.

In that moment, Shelagh knew that everything would work out fine. Years from now, her and Angela would be in this exact position, only it wouldn't be pretend. And whether she was wearing her mother's dress or not wouldn't matter at the time, it would be about the bond they had forged from the moment they had been brought together.

Yes, she would be there helping her daughter on her wedding day and Patrick would be stood close by, pretending that he wasn't crying, and she knew that only one word could sum it up,

"You look _perfect._ "

* * *

Thank you so much to everyone who has read and reviewed :)


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